


In Harmony

by BeelsBae



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Angst, F/M, Feelings, First Time, Kissing, Oral Sex, Riding, Satan is soft, Sex, Smut, Stripping, Woman on Top, but also dialogue, obey me - Freeform, swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:35:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23124853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeelsBae/pseuds/BeelsBae
Summary: Satan and MC go out for dinner, and an argument ensues. Afterwards, an apologetic (and slightly inebriated) Satan is determined to show his feelings for MC.SEMI-SPOILER: Modified Chat text players receive after about two months of gameplay included at the end.
Relationships: Main Character/Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Reader
Comments: 27
Kudos: 388





	In Harmony

3:27pm

_Great. I’ll come by your room later this evening to get you._

Your heart jumps as you read Satan’s text. Sure, you’d gone out on a couple occasions before, but this feels different. You’re going to Hell’s Kitchen, a local restaurant you had been to a couple times before, but you’ve never gone there with _just_ Satan. Never as his _date_. That’s what this is, right? A date? You can never really tell with him. A quick coffee, a visit to an art exhibit, a study session at the library – these were things that friends might do together, you know, and Satan never gave you any specific reason to think that you were more than friends. But today’s invitation feels _different_ somehow. But maybe it’s just you who feels different this time. Expectant.

The hours drag by as you anxiously wait for Satan to come to your door. You even call Asmo in to help assess your outfit, and he fusses with your hair longer than you think necessary, although the final product does leave you with a brief boost of confidence. Asmo doesn’t ask any questions but seems instead to take it for granted that you’re taking an interest in your own appearance, for once. To him, it’s a sign that you are finally embracing the potential he’s seen in you all along.

You wait out the final half hour alone, fiddling with your D.D.D. and trying to convince yourself not to have any particular expectations for the evening. Just as you finish reapplying a muted shade of lip color Asmo has lent you, you hear a knock at the door. You answer it. “Are you ready?” Satan smiles at you, and your worries subside. Whatever this evening turns out to be, you’re sure you’ll have a good time.

***

When you arrive at the restaurant, the place is already crowded, but Satan doesn’t seem worried. Taking your hand, he guides you through the packed foyer where others are waiting to be seated. You emerge on the other side of the bustling customers and make your way towards the bar, which is already jam-packed with customers chattering loudly.

Tinkling laughter spills out from the other end of the room, drawing your attention. Three beautiful witches seated at a corner table, hands clasped around bubbling beverages, have spotted Satan. One waves an inviting hand in his direction, smiling flirtatiously. He sees the group and nods, appearing to know them. _Will he go over to talk to them?_ You wonder, still unsure of whether or not tonight was to be considered 'a date.’ After all, it isn’t particularly _obvious_ you and Satan are here together as anything more than friends, you think as he stands beside you, waiting for the bartender. What would a demon like him be interested in an average human like you for? One of the women at the corner table whispers to the witch beside her, and they both look at you, giggling. You feel yourself blush, and you turn back to the bar, flustered.

“Ignore them.” Satan says, noting your discomfort but offering no elaboration. He says something to the bartender, who disappears into the back. As you wait, you make a conscious effort not to look at the group in the corner, but you can’t help but speculate about the nature of Satan’s… acquaintance with the witches. Asmo has hinted that Satan does quite well for himself at the night clubs and parties, when he’s in the mood. You haven’t seen this side of him yourself, but it wasn’t surprising that a handsome, intelligent demon like Satan was never short on female company.

The bartender returns and motions you both to the side. Satan takes your hand again as you both follow him down a hallway off of the main dining area. “I asked him if there was somewhere we’d be able to hear ourselves talk,” Satan explains, leaving you wondering whether he was sincere or just avoiding his coy acquaintances. You’re led to a small, private room outfitted not with a formal dining table, but with a few comfy lounge chairs and a low table. Satan thanks the bartender, who closes the door behind him as he leaves.

The dull murmur of the customers is barely audible in this intimate setting, and the low lighting is cozy. In fact, you think, your eyes wandering around the small room, everything in here seems optimized for comfort, for seclusion, for closeness… “Er – is this one of the rooms….?” You start to ask, half-remembering something Asmo has said once. What was it? _Rooms for_ _doing things you maybe shouldn’t_? You blush. “One of the private rooms that Asmo is so fond of? Yes, I’m afraid it is.” Satan chuckles. “But there’s no reason to be nervous. I just wanted us to be able to have a nice conversation with our food. The chef, who is a friend of mine, has asked me to sample some new dishes he’s thinking of adding to the menu. I thought we could try them together.” He motions for you to sit in the chair across from him, the low table between you.

“That sounds fun!” You smile, taking your seat. Admittedly, you’re a little nervous; Devildom cuisine is a bit creative for your taste. “Do you know what we’ll be sampling?” As if on cue, a waiter knocks at the door, entering at Satan’s “Come in.” In his hands is a large tray boasting about a half-dozen plates, each one containing a perfect portion for you both to sample. A surprisingly appetizing aroma wafts towards you as the waiter arranges the plates on the table. “Well, let’s begin!” Satan says, handing you a fork.

As the two of you taste-test the Devildom fare, your conversation ranges from taste to texture to appearance, and you have to admit that the food is surprisingly delicious. Despite being made with unconventional ingredients (crispy bat wings are _not_ one of your favorites) the overall harmony of each dish is impressive, and you tell Satan so.

“I couldn’t agree more, but I don’t know if I can eat another bite.” Satan sighs, leaning back in his chair, hand on his stomach.

“Are you sure Beel wouldn’t have been a better taste-tester?” You ask, sinking back into your own cushion, having run out of room yourself. “He’s the most experienced eater among us.” You’re not quite sure that a human’s opinion on the food matters all that much, anyway.

“You’re probably right, but as hungry as he usually is, all of this would’ve been gone in seconds.” Satan explains. “It’s important that we give some constructive feedback to the chef.” He crosses one leg over the other. “Besides, Beel doesn’t have the self-control to really appreciate this kind of experience.”

You frown slightly. After all, Beel loves food. He may not be picky, but he recognizes a good meal just like anyone else. “I don’t know if that’s completely fair,” you offer. “I think Beel appreciates fine cooking, and he’s open to eating just about anything. I’d think that’d be a good quality for a food critic.”

Satan’s brow knits in mild disapproval at your naivety. “Asking Beel to taste-test would be like asking Mammon to save his money, or asking Asmo to stop flirting.” He pours himself another glass of the water you’d been using to cleanse your palates between bites. “I have to say, I really don’t think Beel would’ve been much help, here.”

Satan has a point; the brothers all seem particularly… _driven_. But you don’t appreciate the way Satan is criticizing his brothers. It isn’t that he’s wrong about Beel, or Mammon, or Asmo – not really. You try to come to their defense. “Maybe they are a little… over-enthusiastic, but it seems like it’s their passion that really makes them experts in their areas.”

“MC, you can’t tell me my brothers’ complete lack of self-restraint is somehow admirable. Hell, Asmo caused a war because he couldn’t control himself. Lucifer’s pride has destroyed his relationships. Beel may eat so much one day that the rest of the world starves.” His tone is firm, decided. “No, my brothers are unable to control their compulsions, which you mistakenly call passions. They have no self-discipline.”

“That’s not true! _”_ You say, exasperatedly. You can tell that you’ve rubbed Satan the wrong way by standing up for his brothers, but you don’t like where this is going. “I mean, that’s an oversimplification. Your brothers are just… honest about what they care about.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Satan asks, his frown growing.

“It means they aren’t afraid to show how they feel.” You look down, aware that you’ve probably said too much. Why is it that Satan was always so closed off? So unavailable? You take a drink of water, trying to suppress your own insecurities.

“Giving into your feelings, as you call them, isn’t commendable,” Satan growls, his brow furrowed. “Especially when you’re a demon of considerable power. It’s just irresponsible. Even dangerous.”

“Hiding them isn’t any better, Satan.” _Shit_ , you think, you’re making this personal. But you can’t help it. Satan is just like one of his closed books; you just can’t get a read on him. And the way you feel about him, how you’ve felt for some time now… “Just because _you_ can’t express your feelings doesn’t mean that your brothers are less for doing so! That I am less!”

Satan lurches to his feet. “Do you _really_ want me to express my feelings, MC? _Me_ , the Avatar of Wrath? I am not someone who would steal all your valuables or fuck you to death! My _urges_ aren’t something you would find _endearing_ in some twisted way.” His voice has grown loud, and you see a flash of something dangerously red-hot in his cool green eyes. “I’m someone who would tear you limb from limb, peeling the skin from your body while you scream, someone who could crush you in an instant, without the slightest effort.” As he paints his gory picture, he seems to grow bigger before you. You see his hair part, making way for the horns beginning to sprout from his head. “Tell me, how would you have me _express_ my feelings?” Satan tries to steady his breath, making a conscious effort to avoid transitioning into his demon form. That is the last thing he needs right now – to lose control, to unleash his wrath on you, a fragile human.

Satan’s eyes spill icy fire, and your hands shake slightly as you feel the prick of self-conscious tears. “I want you to be honest with yourself! With me! Not all emotions are bad, and self-restraint isn’t a virtue, not by itself. It’s part of a balance. Passion is guided by restraint, and by reason, but emotion is just as important. Even your _precious books_ will tell you that!” Your eyes fill with tears. For yourself. For the angry demon before you. Your body shakes in anger and embarrassment as your own emotions get the better of you.

“Clearly you don’t understand.” Satan’s anger is dulled by his curiosity… did you just reference Greek philosophy? It seems that this human is full of surprises. His voice is quieter as he continues. “Knowledge and reason _must_ guide our passions, or else we lose our will. Our autonomy.” Even as he says it, he regrets it, seeing the how visibly upset this argument is making you.

“But emotions make us…” You falter.

“Human?” Satan asks, laughing darkly.

“Emotions make us _whole_.” The lump in your throat rises, but you swallow it back, determined to say your piece. “There’s nothing wrong with how I feel, Satan, or with wanting to express my feelings…” Your tears spill over onto your cheeks, and you let them. “And it isn’t wrong to want you to express them, too.”

You turn to leave, quickly gathering your things before stepping out into the hall and slamming the door behind you. You lean against it for only a moment, trying to collect yourself enough to stumble down the hall, past the table of pretty witches, through the crowded bar, and out into the night.

***

1:03am

_MC…_

_I’m sorry._

_I’ve been thinking about ehat you sad._

_Dammit_

_*What you saud_

_… said._

_Are you okay?_

_I may have indulged in some deminud after you left._

_*Demonus_

_Its not important._

_*it’s_

_Where are you?_

_I’m almost home._

_MC I want to see you._

_Cna we talk?_

_I don’t know…_

_Okay, no more talking._

_But I have something to say…_

_What I mean is, to show you._

As you begin typing your response, you’re startled by a loud thud outside of your room. After a couple breathless seconds, you hear a brisk knock on your door. With growing suspicion, you tie your robe tight around you and tiptoe to the door in your bare feet to answer it.

Your suspicions are confirmed. You open the door to find Satan leaning heavily against the door-frame, clothes wrinkled, hair thoroughly tousled. The handsome demon stumbles into your room, half embracing you, half balancing himself on your body. “Satan! Mmph!” Your voice is muffled by his shoulder as you brace his weight with all the strength you can muster. Through some pushing and shoving, you guide him over to your bed, where he flops down heavily, kicking off his shoes as he swings his legs up, nearly round-housing you in the face. “Gahh! What are you doing here?” You ask reproachfully, moving carefully out of range of his limbs. The demon arranges himself, spread-eagled, on your bed. You shake your head slightly to clear it. Satan, the Avatar of Wrath himself, always so calm and controlled, is visiting you in your room in the middle of the night. Moreover, he’s… clearly not sober.

“I needed to see you.” Satan runs a hand through his blonde hair. “I needed to tell you…” He props himself up on an elbow and reaches out for your hand, tugging you in towards him. He tugs a bit more forcefully than he means to, and you’re nearly thrown onto him. “MC…” He looks into your eyes, which are a bit wide with surprise at finding a disheveled Satan so suddenly in your bed. Grunting to himself, he cuts off the words that won’t come and pulls you into his arms. He holds you tightly there against his chest, his chin resting on the top of your head.

He’s never embraced you this way before. Asmo was the touchy-feely demon of the bunch, and of course Beel was always available for a bear hug, especially after a snack or two, but Satan was more hands-off. His touch was always more pragmatic – like holding your hand to guide you through the crowded restaurant. But tonight, here in your bed, he holds you close to him. The warmth of his arms around you and the softness of his breath on your hair make your heart ache. If this is his apology, you accept.

Eventually, you push yourself up to look at him to check if he’d fallen asleep, only to find his eyes watching your every move. You blush under the directness of his gaze. “We should probably get you to bed.” You suggest, hesitantly leaving his arms. Satan closes his eyes briefly, then nods. “Yes, you’re right, MC.”

You help him with his shoes and then to his feet. Wrapping your robe more tightly around you, you peek into the hall to see if anyone is around, but the House of Lamentation is quiet. If Lucifer saw him like this… “Come on, Satan, we have to get you in your room.” The two of you scurry in the direction of his bedroom in silence, only the scuffling off your feet echoing down the halls.

Breathing a sigh of relief, you linger near the doorway as Satan takes off his shoes and jacket. Books are scattered around the room, some open to certain pages, others sporting bright bookmarks. Bookshelves are crammed floor-to-ceiling with them, their worn binding telling you that Satan has read each one many times. Maybe he’s more like his brothers than he realizes, you think.

You move to open the door to the hall. “Well, goodnight.”

Satan appears beside you. “Wait. Please.” He leans over you, his arm holding the door closed. His face is inches from your own, and you find yourself holding your breath as his blue-green eyes pierce down at you. Your heart beats fast in your chest. He seems a bit clearer now. Maybe the alcohol is wearing off. “MC, I didn’t tell… I didn’t show you what I wanted to.”

Without further explanation, Satan kisses you softly, tenderly. His mouth works over yours gently, but persistently, and you find yourself parting your lips, welcoming his ministrations. You kiss him back, a warmth spreading through you as you are enveloped in the sensation of his lips on yours, his tongue lightly prodding. He kisses you like he has all the time in the world, focusing only on this intimate moment. Sinking deeper into his kiss, you wrap your arms around him, folding your body into his. You want to savor every second.

Satan runs a hand up your back, pressing you nearer to him as he tastes your sweet mouth. Taken up in the deliciousness of his closeness, you let slip a soft moan. Satan’s body tenses as you both pause, but he immediately resumes the playful touch of his tongue on yours – a bit more urgently than before. He bites your bottom lip gently, dragging it between his teeth. You arch your body towards him in response, feeling a sudden needy ache in the pit of your stomach.

Satan breaks away from your mouth and begins covering your neck with kisses. The delicateness of his lips on your skin makes you gasp, as he works around the neck of the thin nightgown you’re wearing. With careful fingers, he slips back one sleeve of your silk robe to plant kisses on every inch of your bare shoulder. Tracing the delicate fabric that drapes you, he runs his fingers lightly over your clothed chest, feeling your buds stiffen at his touch. “MC,” He whispers huskily into your neck, biting you softly, just enough for it to tingle. “I want to see all of you.”

Your cheeks flush as he takes you by the hand, leading you over to his bed. Moonbeams spill into the room from the tall, Gothic-style windows, blanketing the floor and the many books around you in silver. Placing you in the center of a pool of moonlight, Satan steps back, lowering himself onto the bed while you stand before him, loosely garbed in your nightclothes. “Show me everything.” He notes your blush and smiles. “Take your time, MC. I can be patient.”

Unsure where to begin, you start where Satan left off. Dropping your silk robe off your shoulders inch by inch, you let it slip slowly into the crooks of your elbows, savoring the feeling of the smooth fabric against your skin. Gradually, you let the robe fall in a luxurious puddle at your bare feet. The cool air caresses your skin as you stand there in your nightgown, shimmering in the moonlight. Satan is focused on your every move as you ease the delicate straps of your nightgown down your arms. He’s the perfect balance of restraint and desire.

You feel a burn in your cheeks as you progress. Perhaps from excitement, perhaps from embarrassment – but most likely from both. Watching him watch you is intoxicating, exhilarating. It’s suddenly so easy to see how he feels, to know what he so desperately _wants._ Running your hands along the fabric of your nightgown, you feel the heat of your own body beneath as you reveal your breasts, then your stomach, and finally your hips, caressing each curve as you do so. Satan eyes are fixed on you as you step out of your nightgown, admiring the glow of your skin and the silvery shadows hidden in the soft dip of your navel, at the nape of your neck, and beneath your breasts. The attention stokes the heat growing inside you, and you move more slowly, almost teasingly, as you remove your panties, until you’re finally standing before him completely exposed, cloaked only in the haze of the moonlight.

As if to make things even, Satan removes his clothes until he is sitting bare before you. You try to control your eyes, but his nakedness makes you oddly eager, and you can’t help but admire his toned body. Your bite your bottom lip at the sight of his manhood, erect with desire – with the same hunger you feel. You can feel yourself becoming slick with anticipation.

The intensity of his gaze draws you to him, and you approach his perch on the edge of the bed. Satan places his hands on your hips, his fingers pressing into your supple skin. You run your fingers through his hair, and he leans into you, his lips finding your stomach. You shiver at the sensation, relishing in his devotion. He drags his fingers along your hip and into the softness of your thighs, slipping his hand between them. His fingers trace your most private area gently, teasingly. You squirm at his touch, steadying yourself on his shoulders, anxious for him to give you the contact you’re craving. “I want to show you… exactly how I feel. How _much_ I feel.” Satan whispers, running a hand from your breast to your hip. He looks up at you, and you can see your own neediness plain on his face. “Is that okay?”

***

How long have you been laying here? Twenty minutes? Thirty? Nearly an hour? You’ve lost all track of time, consumed by the agonizingly thorough work Satan is doing while his beautiful face is nestled between your trembling thighs. Your slickness coats his lips, his chin, as he tastes every inch of you. You bite back a gasp as Satan laps at your slit, maneuvering his tongue in tantalizing caresses across your opening. Every time you approach the peak of your pleasure, he slows until your breathing tells him you’ve regained control. Knotting your hands in his pale hair, gleaming softly in the moonlight, you urge him to go deeper, longing for the release he won’t give you. “S-Satan! Please…” Your hips buck in response to the deliberate strokes of his tongue as he teases. His hands seek out yours, and he intertwines his fingers with your own as he looks up to meet your eyes. What a lewd picture you make there, in complete surrender to your urges, face red, chest heaving. And your lips… they make the most indecent sounds as he delves into your heat.

“P-please! I-I can’t…” You mumble incomprehensibly, incapable of describing the blend of rapture and agony you’re experiencing. Satan stops, crawling up your body to kiss you wetly, letting you taste yourself on his mouth. “I suppose you’ve waited long enough.”

He pulls you to the center of the moonlit bed, kissing you as his hardness presses into your stomach while you straddle his lap, drawing a soft moan from your lips. Suddenly, he slips a single finger inside you, making you gasp. He strokes your walls, curling his finger until he hits that perfect spot, and you whimper. Pleased, he adds a second finger, which slides easily into your wet core, making you shiver in pleasure. He pumps his digits in and out of your slickness slowly. _Too slowly_. You moan into his shoulder, enjoying the sensation but longing for fullness, for more of him inside you. “Satan…” You whimper, on the verge of desperation. After a couple more thrusts, he removes his fingers, now dripping with your wetness.

Satan lies back on the bed, and you hurriedly position yourself over his manhood, your knees on either side of his hips. Smiling at your urgency, he lets you do the guiding, sucking in his breath as you wrap your hand around his hard member. You lower yourself down carefully, allowing just the tip into your slick folds; it’s your turn to take control. “Fuck, MC…” Satan whispers hoarsely, overcome by the maddening sensation of your heat against him. Rubbing him against you, you can feel the demon shudder beneath you, fighting for control over his own body as he aches to plunge into your heat. Oh so slowly, you allow him to penetrate you, lowering yourself until his length fills you. With a groan, Satan bucks his hips up to meet you at the final moment, and you whimper as you feel him bottom out; the sudden fullness threatening to break you.

You move slowly, at first, leisurely rolling your hips, watching Satan’s face turn pink with pleasure as you grind onto his hard length. He guides your movements with hands on your hips, keeping a steady rhythm. Leaning back, you plant your hands on his thighs while you ride him, aware that the erotic movements of your body are on full display for the demon. Satan groans at the sight and the feeling of being buried inside you – you’re just so warm and tight around him.

As you lean forward, Satan catches your breast in his mouth and grazes your nipple with his teeth, sucking hungrily, making you cry out. Lifting your ass, he bucks his hips upward, driving his hard length into your heat. “F-fuck!” At this angle, he hits you deep, every thrust of his hips filling your head with stars. You kiss him greedily, breathing raggedly around his mouth as he takes you, unable to hold back your moans. You’re getting so close, body taught with expectation; his every thrust threatens to unmake you.

You see it on Satan’s face only seconds before you feel it yourself: the ascension, the unyielding bliss that erupts beautifully, wildly, from the union of your bodies. You both cry out, clinging to one another unreservedly in sweet, mutual ecstasy, suspended weightlessly in time and space.

Collapsing into each other’s arms, you come down to earth, awash in the glow of your exertion. Satan cradles you against his chest as you both regain your breath, and the warmth of his embrace comforts you. He runs his fingers tenderly through your unkempt hair.

“MC, look.” Satan points out the window at the indigo sky, sprinkled with dazzling stars. “They’re beautiful.” You sigh, curling closer to the demon’s side. And as the heavens spin with the passing hours, Satan points out the constellations in the Devildom sky, recounting the legends and myths that correspond to each, until his voice lulls you to sleep in his arms.

***

It’s been a whole day since you spent the night with Satan, and you're beginning to worry. Is he avoiding you? You missed him at breakfast this morning, and he hadn’t been at the library, where you’d been studying earlier. _What if he regrets what happened? What if he is still upset about your argument? What if he thinks_ you _are avoiding_ him _? What if this was just a fluke, and he’s back to his old, reserved self? What if things go back to how they were, like it never happened? What if..?_ Your anxious thoughts are interrupted by a ~ _ding~_ From your D.D.D. Your heart skips a beat – you’ve got a message from him.

4:02pm

_Are you free tomorrow?_

_Because I was hoping we could go to the bookstore together._

_Hang on, let me rephrase that…_

_MC, let’s go on a date._

_That’s what I wanted to write._

_Are you interested in coming with me if it’s considered a date?_

You find yourself smiling as you hit send, a faint blush in your cheeks.

_I’m looking forward to it!_

_Good._

_There’s a certain ancient Sanskrit text I am hoping to find._

_You may have heard of it, as it’s from the human world._

_Oh?_

_I believe it’s called the Kama Sutra._

_It’s one I think we’ll both be able to enjoy…_

_Together._

**Author's Note:**

> These are getting too long and self-indulgent, haha, sorry! I promise to make them shorter moving forward. But I hope you enjoy this interpretation of SatanxMC. Inspired by a certain ancient Indian text that covers “sexuality, eroticism and emotional fulfillment in life,” according to Google Books. ;)


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